Proposed Hypothesis: James Bradley is Hot (But Maybe Also a Terrorist)
by 0torno
Summary: Kavita Rao finds herself thinking about Dr. Nemesis more than she should.


Kavita Rao had to admit that something was different. She found herself hitting the gym extra times in a week, taking longer to fix her hair... positioning herself carefully when she leaned over one of the lab benches to examine a Petri dish.

Especially when he was behind her.

She found herself wondering if her behind was still satisfactorily shapely.

Then, there was the distraction. At first it was the shape of his shoulders, the way they moved under his suit as he fiddled with the controls for the electron microscope, making her mouth go dry. Then it was the short, light blond hair brushing the nape of his neck and the smooth skin just above his shirt collar. She found herself imagining what it would be like to come up behind him and place her lips there, press her mouth against his neck - and her stomach flipped, heart racing. He turned around once, caught her looking, and suddenly fumbled with the vial in his hands. He almost dropped it before turning away again, flustered, to continue his work with a certain stiffness in his spine.

He did not turn around again that day.

Kavita noticed when the lab got hot and he took off his jacket that his own behind wasn't half bad.

She privately hoped the thermostat would get stuck.

The next day she left an extra button undone on her blouse.

Madison didn't notice anything, of course, and neither did Nemesis, at first, keeping his eyes carefully averted and ignoring her as much as possible. He gave a stiff nod at her greeting but did not look up. Around lunchtime she went over to his workstation, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart, and slapped a clipboard down on the counter beside him.

"Material supply order for this month," she said. "Madison told me you demanded to check it after last month's dry ice shortage."

"Oh, um, yes." He took the clipboard and scanned it. "Looks like you managed not to mess anything up _this_ time," he said, handing it back to her. He glanced up as their fingers brushed.

And promptly broke into a shocked coughing fit.

She wasn't sure if that was a good sign.

She tried eating lunch with him. Well, she brought him a sandwich and sat down beside him at the lab bench.

"Lunch," she announced. He turned away from the computer screen.

"What's _this_?" he asked, prodding the sandwich suspiciously. "A sandwich?"

"Yep. Tofu and tomato." She bit into her own with relish. He wrinkled his nose.

"It doesn't have-"

"Nope, no cheese or mayonnaise," she said.

"Hmm." He looked mildly put off. "I don't usually-"

"-Eat lunch, I know. But I went to the trouble to bring you a sandwich, James, and you're going to damn well sit here and eat lunch with me."

He sat there and ate lunch with her.

It was lucky that she didn't get to look at his eyes very often, because Kavita could have gotten lost in that brilliant blue. It wouldn't do to freeze in the middle of a conversation, staring starry-eyed at a colleague.

She found herself imagining what it would be like to do just that without having to worry.

He kept his mask on most of the time. Not compulsively, of course, not so much as people burdened with scars or top-secret identities - but glimpses of his sharp cheekbones and slightly crooked nose were rare enough to set something in her chest fluttering; rare enough that she could not take her eyes off his mouth when it was exposed.

She memorized the shape of his lips, the contours of every line when the corners turned down in his signature perpetually annoyed look, and tried to conjure up a mental version in 3D so she could test how her own lips would fit against it.

She turned the thermostat a little higher than usual.

Kavita wished Henry had still been there. He was perceptive. He would have made a good informant, and was just interested enough in gossip to go around meddling in others' affairs.

Madison would have to do.

Kavita strolled casually up to him and leaned on the workbench. No response; he continued fiddling with the electronic switchboard before him. She cleared her throat.

"Wha-?" He looked up, surprised, before recognizing her and returning his gaze to the mass of wires.

"Hi, K," he said absently. "How's it happening?"

"What- ...never mind." She shook her head slightly. "So. Have you chatted with Nemesis lately?" she asked casually.

"Huh?"

"Have you chatted with Nemesis lately. You know... Dr. Ego? Snow White?"

"Oh, uh, I dunno." He snapped one of the wires. "Damn," he muttered.

"Have you... seen him acting strangely? Or... looking at me or anything?"

"Uh, I don't know."

She sighed in frustration. "_Madison_."

He mumbled something in response.

"Madison! I really like him and I need someone to keep an eye out to see if he likes me!" She felt like a middle school student. Madison didn't react.

"Madison!"

"Hmm?" he looked back up at her.

She decided third parties were stupid, anyway.

"I... I like your irides," James blurted. He promptly looked down, of course, in true Dr. Nemesis style - always obnoxiously confident except when it came to personal honesty - and allowed the brim of his hat to obscure his eyes. Then he made a hasty retreat.

But she could have sworn there was a flush high on his cheeks, and the warm thrill in her chest was electrifying and exciting and deliciously promising. She felt like singing.

She allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to have him touch her hand gently, hesitantly, and give her a tiny uncertain smile. She allowed herself to imagine that she would kiss him then, hard and passionately, surprising him at first - and he would wrap his arms around her waist and spin her like some cheesy romance movie, lips pressed together like the contact of their skin was as essential as breath and beating heart and the wiring in the brain that tells the blood to flow -

It would be scientific in its perfect balance, the undeniable chemistry between them and physics of their attraction, and she would lean into his embrace and write a conclusion:

James Bradley is _hot_. And - screw it all - I think I love him.

Then.

Then he disappeared, and the next time she saw him he was dressed like some kind of lunatic cyberpunk aficionado, being labeled a terrorist on the evening news. She wasn't a fan of the goggles, anyway, and his past left a sneaking suspicion in her heart that maybe the news was right. There was something about him, some sneaking moral ambiguity to his rigidly empirical methods, that made her think maybe there were things he cared more for than justice. Than doing what was right.

Than _her_.

She never would have admitted to anyone that she cried that night.

But she did.


End file.
